


Y is for Yearning

by lillianschild



Series: Guy & Marian Acrostic Series [6]
Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Historical, Middle Ages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 18:54:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3865972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lillianschild/pseuds/lillianschild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of brief acrostic fics revolving around words beginning with the letters used to spell Guy and Marian's full names- Sir Guy (Crispin) of Gisborne and Lady Marian Fitzwalter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Y is for Yearning

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sixth one-shot in the series and spans from “Tattoo? What Tattoo?” (S01E08) to the beginning of “Peace Off!” (S01E10).

 

_I wait with open arms,_

_open mind and spirit._

_I wait for life,_

_for the breath of heat_

_that inflames my lungs, my heart._

_I wait for the yearning..._

_And pray for it_

_to never end._

_I yearn to be...me._

It's been three weeks since she accepted my marriage proposal and a fortnight since I presented her with a ring to make our betrothal official. Binding her life with mine forever is the dream which has sustained me for four winters. And yet, now that she's pledged to accept my name as her own in front of God and Man, I feel the promise of her love start to slip through my fingers like the fickle sands which change shape with the trashing winds of the desert.

_I thought you were a better man. Now I realise I must content myself with disappointment._

I go about my daily duties with a heavy heart, knowing I have let her down once again, descended one step lower in her eyes by betraying the only real friend I've ever had at the altar of a man who represents everything my mother's son used to hate.

  
_Loyalties are sometimes divided._ Never before have I felt more of a traitor than I do now when everything my heart's ever wished for reveals itself as a hazy mirage which dissolves when my tainted hands try to reach for it. I'm but the stone whose weight ripples the cleansing waters in circles and drags it to the murky bottom where the light struggles to get through.

_I had to make a choice.You know that I'm all that stands between you and the Sheriff and I would not see you harmed.I have to protect you. Hm?Will you wear the ring again?_

_Of course. But we will never find ourselves in this situation again. Everything is back in its box._

                                                

* * *

 

I walk the corridors of my gloomy prison and yearn for her luminous presence, the beacon that can help me defeat the demons which lurk in the shadows of this convoluted labyrinth; a treacherous maze I don't know how to escape from on my own.

Like the siren whose song calls out to a lonely sailor at high sea, the sweet sound of her voice beckons to me as her soothing cooing reaches my ears from the bailey. Although my master's awaiting my return, plotting ways to use our unsuspecting Saracen guest to enrich his coffers, I cannot resist her call, hungry as I am for a sight of her even from a distance.

I approach a balcony overlooking the bailey where she's whispering sweet nothings in her white mount's ear as she caresses its neck and presses her cheek against the horse's with a smile.

“Not jealous of a horse, are we?” my cunning and spiteful troll of a master asks, appearing at my flank all of a sudden as he feeds the falcon perched on his hand, his eyes trained on Marian with clear disgust in their depths.

I hate the fact he can read me like an open book. And yet, despite the pain of rejection and the angst that robs me of sleep, I can't regret loving her for the hope she'll one day whisper sweet nothings in _my_ ear and graze _my_ skin with tender fingers is the dream which helps me breathe. No, I'm not ashamed of my love for her; it's the one pure thing in my life. I only wish I could control my eager heart from breaking its restraints and allowing my passion for her to be worn upon my sleeve since I know it can either shield her or doom her, depending on Vasey's capricious will.

“Marian and I have had a disagreement, that is all. I had hoped...”

“Hope. I would rather be dead than spend my life hoping. I hope for this. I hope for that. Buy her something. A trinket or two,” suggests the Sheriff, a tone of boring exasperation colouring his voice.

“Marian is not the type to be bought,” I sigh, recalling all the gifts she's turned down and thinking how ironic it is she accepted the only thing I hadn't chosen with care or paid for. It still hurts to know a present taken by force from its owner was the one which ended up having her promise her hand in marriage to me. I wonder if that's my destiny; to get everything my soul yearns for the way a thief gets his keep.

“Nonsense. All women can be bought. It's a nesting thing. They want to make sure their offspring are provided for. They're animals, really.”

Vasey's never felt but contempt for the females of this world and his words reflect that feeling and more. He certainly takes delight in gnawing at me, aware as he must be of my yearning to raise a family and perpetuate the proud legacy of the Gisbornes with the only woman he's ever regarded as a threat to our treacherous alliance.

                                                       

* * *

 

I've never felt more at home than around horses. We've always been able to communicate without words and rely on each other both in and outside the battlefield. Stormbringer's been my one true friend since my return from France, a projection of my dreams and everything Marian is and I wish I could be- strong, powerful and beautiful.

Our love for horses is what brings her and me together; it lends us the wings we lack, frees us of the shackles which imprison us and prevent us from being who we really are behind the masks the world's forced us to wear.

And so I come back to her doorstep bearing gifts once again, hoping this olive branch will be the bridge to bring us closer and put an end to this unbearable chasm between us.

I step out of Knighton Hall, leading my blindfolded betrothed to the front yard, my heart beating anxiously in my chest.

“Really. I do not like surprises.”

“Well, you'll like this one,” I state confidently. There's no doubt in my mind she'll appreciate the majestic animal standing proudly a few paces from us; it's the possibility of her turning down yet another token of my affection that fills me with apprehension.

“Oh, he's beautiful!” she exclaims as soon as I remove the blindfold and her eyes get used to the light. “But I cannot possibly accept him,” she adds, reaching out to touch his glimmering mane and caress his soft muzzle.

“Why not?” I ask her, fearing what her answer will be, preparing for the sting of her words when she tells me she'll never be able to accept anything coming from my hands.

“The expense.”

Her response unsettles me for a moment. “What expense? My fortune is secure, I can provide for you,” I assure her, relieved it isn't my unworthiness but her unwillingness to be the cause of any unnecessary expenditure that feeds her qualms about accepting the destrier.

“Really?”

“That's what I've been trying to show you. Humour me. Just put him through his paces,” I suggest, comforted by the thought she won't be able to resist either her admiration for the animal or the very idea of controlling a beast trained for the battlefield with her soothing touch and persuasive charm.

“OK,” she agrees, her face breaking into a blinding smile which robs me of breath, and mounts the chestnut war horse confidently.

She won his trust the moment they met for the first time. Her scent filled his nostrils as he breathed in deep, seemly unperturbed by the gentle brush of her fingers against his neck. His warrior heart is but an echo of mine.

And they take to flight, hooves pounding; the mystical beast and his rider united in harmony are one at last.

**Author's Note:**

> The extract of poetry at the beginning belongs to “Yearning” by Cheryl Kaye Tardif.  
> The dialogue featuring in this piece was taken almost verbatim from “Tattoo? What Tattoo?” (S01E08) and “Peace Off!” (S01E10).


End file.
